


Stag Night

by snivellus023



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk Sherlock, M/M, The Sign of Three, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snivellus023/pseuds/snivellus023
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after John and Sherlock return to the flat from bar hopping (directly after the accidental knee-grab to be precise). Sherlock is more drunk than he's ever been and lets a few things slip...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I don't mind," he said, his voice sounding a touch too eager in his own ears, low and gravelly from the gulp of scotch he had just consumed. The contact made his shoulders rigid but his flatmate wasn't looking.  _Unnoticeable. Over-thinking? Yes. Obviously._ His brow furrowed on its own accord as he watched John attempt to regain his balance, warm fingers wrapped firmly over his knee, lingering perhaps a bit too long. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took another sip, tearing his eyes away from the hand that unknowingly ignited something deep within him.

 _Flushed cheeks._ John was definitely far from sober. _Eyes heavily lidded._ It was a surprise that they were both still awake. Sherlock shifted in his seat as John finally drew away his hand, which made him more aware of his own drunkenness.

Alcohol wasn’t something he consumed often. It made him feel slow. _Dizzy_. It made his deductions inaccurate and sloppy, which was simply unacceptable. But here he was, somehow enjoying himself despite the embarrassingly sluggish speed at which his mind was working. _Ugh, thirsty._

“I don’t know who you are,” he blurted suddenly. He bit back a smile and swallowed the fit of giggles that threatened to burst forth from his throat. “I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“You picked the name!” John shouted, the corners of his lips turned up in an exasperated smile. He brought both hands to his face and rubbed his eyes as he laughed to himself. “I can’t believe you,” he muttered under his breath, his high-pitched chuckle drawing another smile from the man across from him.

“I don’t know, I thought it would come to me!” Sherlock exclaimed before taking another sip of scotch. It burned its way down his throat but he cared little about such sensations at this point in the evening. His belly was full of beer and liquor in so many varieties that he had lost track. Curse his childlike curiosity when faced with so many choices. _Still thirsty_.

“Madonna?” John asked after peeling the card from his forehead. It only made him laugh harder. “I can’t believe you don’t know who Madonna is. Granted, the whole bit with the Earth and the Sun…”

“Oh leave it,” Sherlock whined, waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, I know who I’m supposed to be. It’s you, obviously.”

John nearly spit out his drink at that and proceeded to pinch the bridge of his nose. He leaned forward on his elbows and watched as the detective snatched the card from the top of his head and stared at it wide-eyed.

“Sherlock Holmes? Oh for fuck’s sake John, I am absolutely as tall as I seem.” He tossed the card to the floor and crossed his legs in a huff before taking yet another large gulp from his glass. He looked down his nose to find it near empty, so he finished it off in one go.

“Slow down there, don’t you think we’ve had enough for now?” John asked, glancing at his own drink. Sherlock eyed the amber liquid for a moment as John swirled it around in his glass before sipping at it delicately.

_Alcohol tolerance, John: moderate. Alcohol tolerance, Sherlock: abysmal at best. Intake: approximately 3015 milliliters beer at 5.4%, 105 milliliters… vodka? Tequila? When did we start drinking scotch?_

“How many of those have you had?” Sherlock inquired, realizing he had been staring.

“Two,” the man responded taking another small drink from the glass. “And you’re going on at least four, so I’d take a minute,” he added with a slur, raising his tumbler.  _Four?_

“Right,” Sherlock responded, clearing his throat. He carefully placed his glass on the floor and ruffled his hair a bit, suddenly all too aware of his questionable state.

“You okay there, mate?” his friend offered and he nodded quickly. He could feel John’s glassy eyes boring into him and he timidly returned the gaze, but a smile crept over his face when their eyes met. Sherlock knew he was prone to rudeness and frigidity and was thankful that his friend - _best friend_ \- put up with it. The honesty in those eyes made him feel warm and he lowered his own to the ground. _Maybe it’s just the scotch_.

“Thanks for taking me out tonight,” John said, sipping at but still not finishing his drink. “I know we weren’t out very late but it was still nice to unwind a bit. No crime scenes to chase, no clueing for… whatever, you know,” he continued, scratching his head. His words were falling over each other.

“It was my pleasure,” Sherlock replied entirely too quickly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes trailed over John’s hand as it tapped out a silent rhythm on his thigh.

“I could go for a cuppa but I don’t think I’d be able to manage at the moment,” John chuckled.

“I could try, how hard can it be?” the detective retorted playfully, but upon trying to stand up simply faltered forward in his chair. _Yep, thoroughly pissed_.

“Careful,” John laughed as he grabbed hold of Sherlock’s thigh, eliciting a very apparent yet very accidental gasp. “Sorry,” he added suddenly, pulling his hand back at such high velocity that one would think he’d just scalded himself.

“No, it’s… I’m fine, I just…” Sherlock stumbled, begging the words to _just find your way out of my mouth already, fucking hell_ …

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have grabbed you so hard, I-“

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock blurted out once more, embarrassment gripping him hard. _What are you doing?_ “That’s not what I meant… I’m sorry, I don’t do this very often, I think I should just go to bed,” he continued, desperately hoping he didn't sound as frantic as he felt.

“You don’t have to go if you’re not tired. It’s fine, I’m pretty sloshed myself. I didn’t mean to startle you, you don’t have to go…”

Sherlock sat back in his seat and straightened his shirt before nodding halfheartedly.

“You didn’t startle me,” he muttered quietly, moving on to the creases in his pants.

“Then why did you gasp,” John inquired, inching slightly closer.

“It was nothing. I don’t know why I did it. I think it’s the scotch,” he replied, glaring at the glass on the floor. _Ruddy alcohol. If only they had followed the measurements…_

“Right, the scotch makes you do this,” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s knee without warning. Once again the detective jumped, though this time the sound he elicited was more like a hiss.

“See, that right there. What is that? You’re Sherlock Holmes, you don’t care about personal space. Hell, you went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet! Are you secretly ticklish?” Sherlock’s eyes widened. _Don’t you fucking dare you bloody drunk_.

John reached forward with both hands and latched on to the man’s lean legs. He could feel the muscles contracting beneath his fingers and he chuckled, though the look on Sherlock’s face was more of mortification than amusement.

“Perhaps don’t do that,” the detective breathed through his teeth, wincing as he struggled away from the touch.

“Alright out with it then, what’ve you suddenly got against people touching-“

“It’s not _people_ , John, it’s you,” he snapped. _Breathe_.

“Why? Is there something particularly off-putting about me, then?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Sherlock replied, barely above a whisper. _Stupid_.

Whether it was the alarming rate at which the scenario played out or the ridiculous amount of alcohol they imbibed that caused John’s reaction to be so delayed was unknown, but the silence that filled the room was a truly horrible thing to experience. Sherlock felt dizzy and the pain of regret throbbed in his chest as his friend slowly drew his hands away. The friction caused his fingers to twitch and he felt a fiery yet shameful sensation begin twisting in his abdomen.

“I feel a bit cloudy at the moment and I don’t want to misinterpret anything,” John said slowly before retrieving his glass and taking a hearty gulp, finally emptying its contents. _Yes John, drink more. That will help you feel less_ cloudy. “Are you… Does this mean… I thought you were married to your work,” he stammered, obviously tiptoeing around the question.

“It felt intimate, alright? And fine, you’re right, it startled me. Are you satisfied?”

“Why would it feel intimate if you don’t think there’s anything between us?”

“There isn’t anything between us.”

“Yes, I know, but-“

“Dammit John, do I have to spell it out for you?” Sherlock was suddenly fuming and frustrated but simply couldn’t stop himself. “It’s obvious now that I cannot maintain the same amount of composure and clarity while under the influence and I severely misjudged the rate and volume at which I indulged so after this many errors already, I may as well go ahead and deduce this one for you. You excite me, John. You smile and you ramble and you laugh and I hate it when all of those other people do it but you aren’t one of them. You’re patient and you’re clever and you’re the only person that can make me act like a right idiot and my god it’s quite warm in here. Is it warm in here? I feel uncomfortably-“

John’s palm rested firmly against the top of Sherlock’s thigh and he ceased to speak in an instant. _Too bloody warm_.

“Does this alarm you?” John murmured, cocking his head to the side.

“No,” Sherlock whispered. A blatant lie.

“This?” he asked again, mirroring the action with his other hand. The detective, though having fought valiantly against it, could not contain his sigh. His head began swimming and a foreign sensation began to wash over him. His flatmate was picking him apart with two simple hands. He hadn’t even moved them yet.

“You’ve proven your point,” Sherlock breathed, the scotch having eradicated all ability to calm the fluctuations in his voice. It was painfully apparent that he was thoroughly smitten.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” John asked, sweeping a thumb back and forth over the fabric of his friend’s trousers. The movement earned him a ragged exhale and his lip turned up in a smirk, though Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to notice.

“Well for one, you aren’t gay,” Sherlock managed to respond, eyes intently watching the delicate digits that clung to his legs. “I seem to recall you repeating that statement weekly at least.” John chuckled. He had that right at least.

“I wish you weren’t so bloody difficult to figure out, Sherlock. You’re always doing such ridiculous things; how was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t,” the detective replied as if it pained him.


	2. Chapter 2

" _John_ ," Sherlock breathed, the syllable packed with as much urgency as he could muster. It felt like his brain was about to short circuit. The image of his flatmate's nimble fingers caressing the trembling muscles of his thighs was making him light-headed. They were delicate and precise, fitting for a doctor, and they seemed to know exactly where to focus. "Really John, I should get to bed... I don't...  _Ah_ -"

John strengthened his grip on the helpless detective's legs, gently dragging his palms down toward his knees and then back up again, kneading the sensitive flesh through his trousers. Sherlock's knuckles were white from gripping the armrests tight enough to hurt, and he shivered when John licked his lips.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock stammered. He imagined how ridiculous he must look, flushed and trembling, pupils fully dilated...

"Something about how flustered this makes you..." John replied unexpectedly. "I like it." They stopped for a moment, frozen in place. The only sounds in the room were those of Sherlock's ragged breaths - the only movements were those of his chest.  _Just... breathe..._

"John, you're severely inebriated at the moment. Whatever you're doing right now, it's not fair."  _I am not an experiment._  "You're getting married... you're just teasing me because it's the only time you can get away with it and I don't entirely appreciate it." Sherlock cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

"What if I do this?" his flatmate murmured. His hand darted to the zip of Sherlock's trousers and the man couldn't help but moan, thoroughly overcome by an equal ratio of pleasure to  _Jesus fucking Christ when did I get so hard?_

"Stop," he half-yelled, half-whimpered. He grabbed John by the wrist and pried away the exploring hand, albeit with a bit of reluctance. "Tell me what you're doing. I've never done... I don't know what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking that while the timing couldn't be more shit and I'm probably too pissed to be making any reasonable decisions, I like this... Whatever this is. I want to keep doing this right now." John admitted. It sounded sincere. "Tell me if I make you uncomfortable, but if you really do want this, which I think that you do, then let me."

The room fell silent once more and Sherlock continued to stare at his flatmate who was now  _getting down on his knees._ He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to get a read, but the most he could gather was that John was indeed sloshed and that he seemed to be enjoying whatever it was he was doing.  _Validation? Power play?_ His deductions seemed to all be amiss and the rarely encountered arousal he felt only aided in adding to the haziness in his mind.

This sort of thing didn't happen to Sherlock Holmes. He was not interested in sex. Such activity was purely biological, an act driven by primal instict - he needn't be bothered by it. In fact, he never really understood the concept. Yet there he sat, and there John knelt, and the throbbing in his pants seemed to tell him otherwise. _  
_

_You want this, Sherlock Holmes._

Everything about it excited him to the core but his twitches and ticks at his flatmate's caresses served as reminders of his blatant inexperience and the nerves that came with it.

"Sherlock?" John asked from between his legs. He blinked down at the shorter man, unaware of how long he had been silent, and for the first time in a very long while he acted without thinking.

His hand moved forward on its own accord and before he knew it his long fingers were smoothing over his flatmate's hair. It was a delicate sort of touch, perhaps too thoughtful - too intimate - but a small smile spread over John's face and he breached the gap between them.

It felt so sudden, frantic even, as if they had both been waiting their entire lives for this moment. Sherlock's movements were rigid and sloppy but, being the genius he was, he had the capacity to learn rather quickly. John tasted of scotch, of sherry notes and a layer of honey, dancing across his tongue. He parted his lips hesitantly and allowed his flatmate to explore, to taste the nuances of his own inviting mouth. The lingering spice from a ginger beer chase, a dash of vanilla - they blended together beautifully. He cupped his hands to John's cheeks and breathed him in, taking note of his steadily increasing pulse beneath the pad of his finger. Their tongues glided gently over one another between bouts of frenzied, hungry movements, and he hissed as John sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. His flatmate's tongue flicked across the tender flesh and sucked at it lightly, and he could not suppress a moan of approval. The mixture of pressure from those playful teeth and the velvety texture of John's delectable lips made his heart skip a beat, but before he could indulge in them further they began to trail their way down his neck.

Clearly having noticed the reaction garnered from his previous nibble, John dragged his teeth across Sherlock's pale neck, the tip of his tongue leaving a trail of moisture that attracted the cold. The detective shivered as he let his head fall to the side, exposing more of his silken flesh like a prize. John smiled before sinking his teeth into it, possibly a bit too vehemently. Sherlock gasped harshly at the gesture, the sting of it startling him despite the alcohol-induced dullness in his senses. His flatmate quickly responded by kissing him softly over the site in a silent apology, a low chuckle resounding in his chest. He lapped at the small indents left by his teeth before sucking hard, undoubtedly producing a bruise. Sherlock bit his lip and arched his back, reveling in the feeling of being branded.  _Naughty._

"May I?" John inquired quietly. His fingers toyed at the lapels of Sherlock's coat, and he leaned forward to allow for easy removal. After a few moments of twisting about it was tossed to the floor, John's jumper following quickly behind. "This too," his flatmate added eagerly, fumbling with Sherlock's belt buckle. The detective tensed at this, suddenly uncertain of what to do with his hands.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock breathed, finally deciding to let them settle on the armrests as John worked open his belt. The sound of his zip being tugged open was the only response he received before a warm hand began stroking him through his pants.

" _Fuck_ , Sherlock..." his flatmate breathed. Before he could ask what was the matter or apologize for some sort of misstep in etiquette, his flatmate began to elaborate. "You're bloody gorgeous... You're so fucking hard for me... You're  _amazing_."

The detective could literally feel his cheeks grow crimson and his heart accelerate in his chest. John's hands were moving so quickly that he wouldn't have been able to protest it if he tried. Before he knew what was happening his trousers were down to his ankles and steady fingers were wrapped around his impossibly firm cock. He couldn't keep his jaw from dropping at the sight of it - at the feel of hot skin against his own. Their eyes met for a moment, gazes lazy yet intent, as John licked his lips suggestively.

Sherlock truly did try his best to keep his eyes open and observe as John's flattened tongue found its way to the sensitive underside of his member. His eyelids grew heavy as it slowly worked its way upward, deliberate and teasing, to his flushed and leaking head. Finally reaching its destination it swirled around in a dizzying fashion, and he sighed as his entire length disappeared past his flatmate's lips.

The detective let his head fall back and his hands work their way through John's hair, murmurs and mewls forcing their way out of his throat. His mouth hung open in delighted surprise at the sensations he'd never felt before, and it took all of his strength to keep from bucking his hips into that beautiful cavern of heat and vibration. John began working him with one hand, the other splayed over his chest after snaking its way into Sherlock's shirt while he continued to ravage him with his tongue. The sounds they were making were positively indecent - it was extraordinary and overwhelming all at once.

John's fingertips wandered about, gently grazing one stiff nipple and eliciting a small gasp. He let his nails drag lazily down Sherlock's chest as he continued twisting his tongue over and under and around his cock, which was now throbbing with impatience and desire. He let his hand glide further and grasped the detective's sharp hip tightly, kneading the trembling flesh in his palm. Sherlock was panting now, positively rattled by John's handiwork, and forced himself to pull away as not to cut their night too short.

"Stop... I can't..." he managed as his flatmate lingered just a moment longer, letting his length slip out from his lips as laggardly as humanly possible. The sight alone nearly made him come, but he chewed his lip in protest.

"Bedroom?" John asked, his tone entirely too innocent for such an unchaste proposition. Again Sherlock's muscles felt taut and his back went rigid, but he nodded all the same. He made an effort to stand but his legs felt boneless and his head felt cloudy. It must have been obvious as his flatmate quickly wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pressed their lips together in a tight embrace.

Sherlock could taste himself on John's mouth and he felt astonishingly filthy. He smiled into the kiss and moaned as John palmed his erection once more, taking a small step back toward the bedroom. Sherlock carefully stepped out of his shoes and trousers that were pooled on the floor and decided to follow along, " _this is a good way to trip and die_ " only entering his brain for a fleeting moment. He let his hands wander to John's waist and followed him precariously through the kitchen full of obstacles, which they somehow made it through without destroying. He slipped his tongue past John's pliable lips and began to explore his mouth as they moved, becoming slightly more confident with his technique. He took cues from his flatmate's minute vocalizations and from the angles of his neck, mimicking but not copying his movements. He wanted to taste him all over,  _everywhere_ \- not just the lingering sherry oak, the dried fruit, the salt of his own precum on his lips... He wanted to drink in all that was John Watson, and he wanted to do it now.

Suddenly he was falling back onto his bed without warning and he grabbed at the good doctor's shirt out of instinct.  _Why is he still wearing a shirt? Why am_ I  _still wearing a shirt?_ As if to have read his thoughts, John began unfastening his own buttons with only a small bit of trouble. Sherlock did the same with less successful results.

"You are really pissed, aren't you?" John asked, finally freeing himself from his constraints. The detective had only made it one quarter of the way down before huffing with frustration.

"That I am," he replied, forgoing the fastenings altogether and simply pulling his own shirt apart. He felt silly for a moment as the buttons clattered to the floor but the ravenous glint in his flatmate's eyes told him that he was rather enjoying the show. "You won't be needing those," he added, gesturing toward the front of John's trousers. The doctor smiled down at him in agreement and tugged at his belt before tossing his remaining clothes in a pile by the door.

Sherlock leaned back on his elbows as John craned over him for a kiss, slowly easing them further onto the bed. Their tongues battled through the process of repositioning and Sherlock breathed a sigh of pleasure at the sensation of his flatmate's body pressed firmly against his own. He was warm, so incredibly warm, and he couldn't help but wrap his arms over the curve of his lower back possessively. He let his lips wander to the side of John's cheek and over the curve of his jaw, the light stubble scratching at his chin. He let his tongue glide over the soft skin just below his flatmate's ear and reveled into the gasp that filled the air. He could feel John's erection pressing against him and he felt so excited, so  _alive_. He wanted to be closer, to absorb that man's very essence, and he found himself spreading his legs so that they could fall into place.

"Hold on," John whispered into his ear and he stiffened for a moment. "I have a bottle of lube in my bedroom, let me go get it," he added before kissing him greedily, tearing his body away with some protest. "I'll be right back."

Sherlock waited to hear footsteps down the hall before springing up out of bed, heart pounding in his chest. He paced for a moment to calm his nerves and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He squinted for a moment at the face staring back at him, glistening with sweat, complexion florid. His lips were pink and swollen - he looked absolutely debauched.

"Damn," he whispered to himself before turning on his heel and climbing back into bed. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and took a deep breath, startling for a moment when he heard footsteps approaching.

"Got it," John said cheerily, bounding into the room like an excited child. He wasted no time in returning to the bed, falling into Sherlock's arms as if he had never left. He let the small bottle fall from his hand onto the bed next to them and let his tongue return to exploring the detective's mouth. Sherlock wrapped his legs around the shorter man subconsciously, shuddering when their erections pressed against each other hungrily. "How would you like to do this?" he asked.

Sherlock made a small grunt of indifference at the question. In all honesty, it really didn't matter. He didn't know what to expect nor what to contribute and opted to stay quiet and bask in the glory that was John's talented tongue, hoping he would decide for himself.

"I mean, I like being on bottom as much as on top I suppose, but god I would really love to fuck you right now," he added, pulling back just enough to stare into Sherlock's eyes. The detective had a curious expression on his face, the sort he saved for crime scenes and puzzles, and it seemed to make his flatmate uneasy. "Or whatever you want to do is fine, I'm really fine with-"

"Oh shut up," Sherlock interrupted, unable to suppress an eye-roll. He smirked to make up for the rude gesture and was pleased to see the smile spread over John's face. "You've done this before," he observed.

"Alright yes, a few times in college... The experimental days, I suppose... I don't really know why I did it but it was fun and... well anyway... I'm sorry, I should have asked you. Have you ever done this... like this... with another man before?" He pulled away a little further to allow his friend to speak, though he seemed to be internally protesting the question, looking over the man's shoulder rather than into his eyes.

"I've... never done this at all before..." Sherlock finally mumbled, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He sheepishly glanced in his flatmate's direction and found a sickly mixture of surprise and regret painted over his features.

"You've never... Sherlock, you've never had sex before?" he asked, seemingly astonished. The words sounded harsh in Sherlock's ears and he let his gaze fall to the side of the bed, hoping he didn't appear as uncomfortable as he felt.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well this has been fun John, thanks," Sherlock groaned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that," John replied. He was sitting at the end of the bed now, arms crossed in front of his chest. He was avoiding the detective's eyes, and while he was still a bit distant, he appeared to be pleased that Sherlock finally decided to say anything at all. "Look, I just... if I had known..."

"Why does it matter?" the man snapped, cutting him off. "Virginity is a meaningless social construct, I don't understand why you would even care."

"It just feels a bit like taking advantage is all," his flatmate answered with a sigh. He began cracking his knuckles absently and staring off into the distance.

"Taking advantage? John, you didn't drag me in here."

"I know I didn't, but just listen to yourself. Hell, listen to me! We've both been drinking all night, you're still slurring all of your words about... It's just that... If you're in your thirties and you've never had sex, why would you suddenly want to now?"

"Don't go and try to analyze it John," Sherlock whined, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids.

"Oh yes, you get to analyze everything about everyone all the time but I'm not allowed to point out the fact that you only want to sleep with me because you're more drunk than you've ever been in your life."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No,  _you're_ being ridiculous!" John blurted out, finally turning to face his friend.

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat but his gaze did not waver. John looked conflicted and he cursed himself for not feigning experience.

"Don't do this," the detective said finally, quieter than anticipated.

"Sherlock..."

"No, listen to me. It's not just tonight. I want this...  _have_ wanted this..." He chewed his lip and began wringing his hands in frustration.  _Tell him. Just_   _tell him._  "This is it. This is the only chance I'm ever going to get.  _Please_ , John..."

A small smile played across John's lips and he sighed, shaking his head. He looked conflicted, but he began to move closer to the warm body that was eagerly awaiting his touch in the middle of the bed.

"I know it seems like a bad idea because it probably is, but I'll never stop thinking about it if I let this opportunity pass," he continued, lifting a hand to his flatmate's cheek.

"You will tell me if you want me to stop, yes?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear. The detective nodded quickly before wrapping his arms around the shorter man and pulling him back on top of himself. He spread his legs once more to allow his flatmate better access and basked in the heat that emanated from his skin. He welcomed the return of John's weight on his torso. It made him feel safe.

"I want to taste you, John," Sherlock breathed hastily, the words sounding frantic as they spilled from his mouth. They had been so dangerously close to ending such a magnificent night, he was not going to risk letting this opportunity pass.

John bit his lip and moved up to his knees, but before he could maneuver into another position Sherlock was already sitting up planting kisses across his abdomen. The detective wrapped his arms around the small of his flatmate's back and let his teeth graze the soft flesh of John's stomach. Anxious fingers were suddenly tangled in his hair and the man's erection was soon at attention once more, pressing firmly against his cheek.

"Tell me what you like," Sherlock whispered entirely too seductively before wrapping his lips around the head of John's cock, moving slowly to coat it fully in slick saliva. He tongued at the silky skin curiously, taking into account the small shudders that began wracking his friend's body and trying to pinpoint the movements that caused them. He was gentle at first, careful to keep his teeth from grazing the sensitive flesh as he acclimated to the weight in his mouth, but the encouraging sounds that came from above aided his confidence. He hollowed his cheeks and pressed the length further into his mouth, as far as he could comfortably manage.

"That... that's actually quite good," John managed to say, fingers tightly wound through his flatmate's curls. "Maybe use your hand as well?" he asked shyly.

Sherlock moaned in response and the man shuddered at the vibration, bucking his hips forward unintentionally. The motion nearly caused the detective to choke but he recovered quickly, using the small pause to wrap his long fingers around the base of John's cock.

"Mmm... Like this?" Sherlock asked, hot breath cascading over the man's wanting prick. He smiled to himself before letting his tongue slide over the tip, lapping up the sticky beads of precum that settled there.

"Oh god yes," John moaned, rocking his hips. His hands felt heavy and uncoordinated in Sherlock's hair, and he took it as a good sign. He tugged delicately at the firm flesh that filled his palm and twisted his hand gently before taking the head back into his mouth. He snaked his tongue across the underside of John's magnificent cock and hummed, sending an unbearably delectable sensation throughout his body. "God, Sherlock... Your mouth is so perfect," John managed, rubbing his friend's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You're perfect," he added, chewing his lip.

Sherlock stole a glance upward to find his flatmate breathing heavily, eyes shut tightly in what appeared to be ecstasy. His heart pounded harder in his chest at the sight of what his clumsy, amateur handiwork had done, and his own cock twitched impatiently.  _Interesting._

"Can I fuck you?" John asked suddenly, his voice gravelly and breathless. He hissed as his flatmate pulled away, obviously having been close to release. "You're bloody good at that, you know."

Sherlock blushed and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. It made him feel filthy, and he was slowly beginning to realize just how much he enjoyed that.

"Of course you can. And... thanks?" He smirked devilishly before lying back on the bed and let his eyes wander over John's body. While not as tall or lean as his own, his flatmate's build still appeared fit and strong. He'd seen the man sprint and jump and fight - he knew it to be true. He licked his lips as John picked up the previously discarded bottle, turning it in his hands.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," the man reiterated, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay," Sherlock agreed. He decided it would be better not to argue or fuss. He watched closely as his friend flipped open the top with a quiet snap and then poured some of the fluid over his fingers, letting the excess drip onto his own thigh carelessly. It was mesmerizing and appeared almost in slow motion.

"Spread your legs a bit," John requested and Sherlock obliged, although he felt a bit overexposed. He let his arms fall to his sides awkwardly and tried his best not to let his mind draw comparisons with a medical examination. He felt a chill in the air settle over him and he took in a deep breath.

The initial contact felt cold despite John's gracious attempts to warm the lubricant with his hands. He tried his best not to startle, though he was sure his body had betrayed him. The touch felt foreign and out of place but he tried to stay calm, chewing the inside of his cheek discreetly as his flatmate continued his ministrations.

"Just relax," John whispered before placing his hand over Sherlock's cock. He palmed it softly, attempting to bring it back to attention since he seemed to be losing focus. The detective tried his best to comply and let his eyes wander to the hand that stroked him, fixated on the sensation of warm flesh against his stirring erection. His mouth fell open slightly as he felt a finger slip inside him, and he begged his muscles to remain pliable, fighting the natural urge to pull away. "That's it," John encouraged as he leaned forward to kiss the inside of Sherlock's thigh. The detective exhaled as his flatmate worked up to the second knuckle. "God your gorgeous," the doctor said with a sigh as he let his mouth wander toward the cock in his hand.

Sherlock let his head fall back as John's tongue found its was to the base of his prick, hardly noticing when the rest of his flatmate's digit disappeared inside him. He arched his back and dug his nails into the sheets, humming his approval. The doctor continued to stretch him as he licked his way up the firm shaft, alternating between suckling and lapping at the sensitive skin. The detective opened his mouth, probably to say something about John's delightful tongue, but before he could find the words he felt something new and electrifying that made him simply gasp. His friend let out a knowing "ah" before repeating the motion with his fingers, and Sherlock nearly writhed out of his grasp. He muttered something incoherent and full of obscenities as John smiled up at him, fucking him with two fingers that the detective hadn't even realized were inside of him.

"May I?" John asked innocently, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over his perineum.

"Please do," Sherlock replied quickly, nearly cutting him off. He propped himself up on his elbows to press their lips together, and he ambitiously allowed himself to bite down on his flatmate's lip. He smiled as John moaned into the kiss and he breathed it in, anxious and excited by their closeness. He lingered there for a moment longer before reluctantly falling back onto the bed, eyes glued to John's hands as they reached for the small bottle once more. The man's movements were much less casual now as he hastily flipped open the cap and poured its contents directly onto his erection and smeared it about with his fingers. He was eager, so very eager, and Sherlock loved to see him like this.

John positioned himself between his flatmate's legs and their eyes met, full of intrigue and desire. Sherlock was sure he had never seen someone's pupils so dilated, someone's cheeks so flushed... The fire in John's eyes was making him dizzy and he felt like he might melt into his arms right then and there. He breathed deeply and felt the pressure of his friend's member against him, and he wanted it so badly. He kissed at John's neck and down to his clavicle, tasting the salt on his skin before dragging his tongue to his shoulder. He sunk his teeth into the creamy flesh hard as John pressed inside him.

It hurt too much yet not enough, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His body shuddered against his will, but John held him tightly and he began to relax. He licked at the marks he left on his flatmate's shoulder and whimpered as John rocked his hips carefully, letting him get used to the foreign sensation.

"Are you-"

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, perhaps rudely, but his friend didn't seem to mind. It seemed wrong to tarnish the moment with more questions about whether he was alright, because how could he not be? He was in John's arms, finally and completely, and he felt so very warm.

The more John moved the better he began to feel, and he found himself moving his hips in a slow but steady rhythm. He was nervous that he was taking too long to adapt to the feeling of being so bloody full, but if that were the case his flatmate didn't show it. He licked his lips and gently sucked at John's trapezius, strangely finding solace in the warm crook of his neck. His friend's hot breath felt phenomenal as it fell over him, and he whined as John's cock grazed his prostate.

" _Fuck_ ," Sherlock breathed, the sharp consonants cutting through the silence at last. It felt amazing and he wanted more,  _needed_ more of that feeling. He arched his back and grabbed hold of John's arse hard in his hands, entertaining the idea of giving it a good slap. John pulled out and then snapped his hips forward more forcefully than before, and Sherlock couldn't help but cry out in pleasure.

It was unlike anything he'd experienced before. While the concept of sex was still quite new, he understood the necessity of release. The male anatomy could be a persistent and fickle thing at times, and therefore he was no stranger to the notion of pleasuring oneself, but he somehow did not realize the variables that could come with it. He generally did not look forward to the act of masturbation while everyone else seemed to enjoy it, and only deemed it a necessity to either clear his head or to avoid discomfort. It was simply physical stimulation - what could be interesting about that?

But this - this was different in so many ways. He could feel John's heart racing in his chest as their bodies pressed together, he could hear the sounds of pleasure as they escaped through gritted teeth. He loved the feel of his flatmate's slick cock filling him entirely, and he understood the difference. He felt so close, as though they were a part of each other, and he dug his nails into his friend's soft flesh.

He threw his head back as John wrapped a hand around his neglected member, and he yelped as a hot mouth began sucking at his neck. The flurry of sensations was becoming too much, and he knew he would not last much longer. That seemed to be the point, however, as John's thrusts began to grow more disjointed, more hasty and desperate with each second that passed. He could feel his release nearing but he tried to stave it off, tried to make this moment last as long as possible. Sharp teeth clamped down on his throat and he realized he was cursing something filthy, muddled words falling over themselves as they escaped from his mouth on their own accord. His voice was low and ragged, worn out from the moans and whimpers that John managed to fuck out of him without his noticing, and he came hard all over his flatmate's hand.

"Fuck,  _Sherlock,_ " John shouted, slamming into him impossibly fast. Sherlock's body convulsed through the waves of his orgasm as John continued to ride him, achingly close to his own release. His spent cock was still being teased between their slick bodies and he whined at the sudden sensitivity, his muscles shuddering uncontrollably as John finally spilled inside him, eyes shut tightly and chewing his lip.

Sherlock finally fell limp and exhausted, whimpering from the overstimulation as his flatmate pulled out, sticky and dripping and sexy as hell. John let himself fall onto the bed beside him and they simply laid there for a few moments in silence, trying to catch their breath.

"So... How was it?" John asked finally, a smile apparent in his voice.

"Can't speak... too tired..." was Sherlock's response, and his friend laughed.

"Good. That's good, then."

Sherlock nodded sleepily and turned, resting his cheek against John's chest. The man sighed beneath him and held him tightly, tugging a sheet up and over their shoulders.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

The detective yawned before muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "I love you."

"Mmm... Love you too," John replied and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I may end up doing a follow-up story when I get a chance since this one finished so abruptly and ambiguously... I don't want it to be a sad ending! But again, I truly appreciate the lovely comments and thank you for taking the time to read my fic :)


End file.
